Noodle-doodle

Today the Universe canoodles
like a lonely clarinet’s sad random noodle-doodles:
hooty calls which fall into an absent-minded blues improv –

then lobbing out of nowhere – as if in a dream
of swooning in some other Universe’s arms –
descends into full-throated chesty Brahms;

today the Universe sends out a yearning song
to notions that there might be other unknown
lone dimensionalities who’d want to hum along.

Today the air is full of sweet discarded melody.
Today with a magnificent but unappreciated ingenuity,
the Universe pursues a splendid superfluity

of tunes which dip and dangle, pirouette upon
the infinitely tiny squeeze
between its longings and complacencies –

all the major and the minor keys.
Today its delicately bobbling balance
could be wobbled by a sneeze into catastrophes.

And yet it floats as if on preternaturally calm sweet seas:
quantum-tiny latitudes and longitudes
all sway a little here and there

and back again at each new
noodle-doodle from the solipsistic clarinet’s reprise –

self-correcting by degrees.

.